Ghost of the Heart
by Emily-Mel
Summary: Reportedly a moving story of love lost and unrequited passions (1+4). By Emily (Em-chan)
1. Segment One

Gundam Wing Fic--Ghost of the Heart

**GHOST OF THE HEART**   


Welcome to this, my second finished Gundam Wing fanfic series. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. One fair warning: each section is in a different P.O.V., but you should not have any problems switching between characters. Please do not hesitate to share with me any thoughts you have concerning this effort. Thank you.   
--Emily   
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**Part 1**  
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****

For someone supposedly trained in the subtle arts of diplomacy, he sometimes acts like such a naive child. That's what I love about him--this interesting dichotomy. 

They're ouside the door, just like every other evening. This time there are only four girls with him instead of the usual half dozen or more. An apparent lull in the conversation is followed by a short burst of feminine chatter interspersed with laughter. His voice is so soft it didn't carry through the wall like their shrill tones. Only when he opens the door do I hear him. 

"I'm sorry to have kept you all up with my idle prattling. You should have mentioned the time long ago." Sincerity flows through his speech. 

"Never you mind about that, darling. It's not every day a gal can be so lucky as to get her hands on such a cute and wealthy fella. That's not something you let go of easily." Of all the attempted seductions I've been witness to, that one has to rate as the most blatant. Not to worry though; he takes this drastic change of tactics in excellent stride. 

"Why I do declare," he responds, imitating her drawl admirably. "You're trying to turn my head with sweet nothings, aren't you, Eugenia? If I didn't know better, I'd swear you only want me for my brains." 

"She's not the only one," a second girl purrs. I can pick out his self- deprecating chuckle amid their harsh squeals and tiring giggles. 

"That's so true. What would we do without your help? I feel completely lost in lecture; but when you explain it afterwards, it's absolutely clear. Who would have thought... now how did you put it?" a simpering girl asks. 

"The widespread economic ramifications of North America's unification, which initially fueled the first stable mining colony's development, would eventually lead to a total disintegration of the internal power structure, causing a reversion to older boundaries once plebian colonization became commercially feasible." 

"Oh, I'm sure I never made that crucial link, sir." I cringe at the fawning attitude of this newest sycophant. 

"Please, we're all just humble petitioners trying to learn the keys to peaceful management of the future." He bids goodnight to these hangers-on, promising to continue their discussion at a later date. The pack reluctantly drifts off toward their established dormitory in an adjacent wing, laughter occassionally reaching us before they turn a corner. 

There are some privileges when it comes to being one of the two male students at a private school; administrators do their best to keep the sexes separate, even to the point of lodging us in the visitor's quarters where security is at a discrete maximum. Of course, one drawback is the constant attention we both get from nearly every girl. I don't like the way he seems to encourage it, always so friendly and obliging. Still, when he acts that way around just me, I can't say I want to complain. 

Locking the door, he drops a stack of history texts on a table and falls onto the common room's couch. Forearm across his brow and one leg lazily hanging off the cushion's edge, he is the very picture of exhaustion. 

"Long day?" It has been pointed out, rather rudely, that my conversational skills leave much to be desired. I just need the proper motivation, that's all. 

"Yeah." He pushes himself up and sits back, both feet flat on the floor and hands folded in his lap. So formal. 

"I think it's better to be a freedom fighter than a student. At least OZ doesn't expect a twelve-page essay the day after a strike. The worst they can do is kill you by inches, not by paragraphs." 

I grumble my displeasure at his joke and continue typing. Curious, he stretches and walks over, peering over my shoulder to read the screen. "Ethics. That one's been giving me problems, but it seems like you're almost done. When's the assignment due, anyway?" 

"Next Tuesday... nearly a week from now." I don't stop to look up at him, afraid he'll notice something behind the mask I wear. 

Ever since I first realized these new... emotions, I've been careful to keep them hidden; terrified that if they fully emerge, he won't respond in kind. There's too great a chance for failure, so I must keep my distance. It's incredibly difficult to maintain my composure as he reaches around me to correct a misspelled word. 

"Wouldn't want you to get marks off, would we?" Giving me one of those gloriously radiant smiles that is so familiar but treasured for its inherent beauty, he straightens. His brilliant aqua eyes are the tiniest bit dim and there is a deepening darkness below. Visible signs of fatigue seem to grow every day. "Well, I guess I'll head off to bed. Don't stay up too late." He stifles a yawn and leaves for an adjoining room. 

"Goodnight, Quatre. Sweet dreams," I whisper, positive that were he able to hear my request, it would not change the likely course of tonight's events. 

By the time I've finished my work on the school's computer, he's been asleep for at least thirty minutes. I switch off all the appliances and go sit in my dark room. An hour. Two. Two and one-half hours later, I make my move. Creeping through the suite on a well-known path, I ease open Quatre's bedroom door. 

Each night I feel like an intruder, a voyeur into his most private self. Each night I vow this will be the final time. Each morning my resolve crumbles with the coming dawn. Then am I sure that I could no more keep the waves from crashing to shore than I can stop these visitations. 

This... obsession began some months ago. When I was to duel with Zechs Marquise, shortly before we all returned to outer space, I chose to use Trowa Barton's Gundam. We had reached an understanding and, while not exactly friends, we acknowledged the importance of maintaing a coherent resistance. Familiarizing myself with the machine's controls as Trowa arranged for a full set of ammunition, I noticed a tiny rectangular piece of heavy card stock wedged in the lower corner of a monitor. 

At first I though it was a monochromatic photo, but upon closer examination I discovered a small range of muted colors. Obviously taken under natural low-light conditions--at the close or start of the day. The subject was simply breath-takingly beautiful: lying tangled in white sheets was a slumbering angel, his golden hair the truest glinting pale shade. The unmarred upper body was partially exposed while his head was turned to one side. His face an example of classical perfection, I stared long at the rosy skin, slightly parted lips, and delicate nose. Somehow, somewhere I had seen this person before. 

Glowering down at me, arms crossed over his chest and one foot tapping the gantry in anger, Trowa took me by surprise. He extended one open hand toward the photograph, palm up, his eyes flashing a defiant challenge. I flipped it over in passing it to him, noting on the obverse a quote from Boccacio in his handwriting: _"The mouth that has been kissed loses not its freshness; still it renews itself as does the moon."_

He never alluded to the silent exchange in our remaining time together. Only later did I recall the worried face of 04 from one transmission during a major battle. Apparently, he and Trowa were very close. However, that fact did not stop my pursuit of him as I began to learn more about the unlikely pilot. 

Each new bit of information, every observation inevitably called forward a comparison between Quatre and the two other individuals who so intrigued me: Relena Darlian and Duo Maxwell. 

Relena--the first person I met on Earth, my current 'protector' from certain death in the hands of Romefeller, and someone who embodies all my cause holds dear. Espousing an ideal peace, she is in every way a beauteous thing and I am honored she finds me important enough to be so attractive. However, it's more the dangerous and powerful mystique she senses surrounding me that draws her to me--not a true bond of two equals. For her own safety and the stability of the colonies, I must keep this figurehead free from harm. Including that which I might cause her. 

Completely opposite in many superficial ways, Duo is annoyingly vibrant, overflowing with an undeniable zest for life. With a characteristic sense of irony, he likens himself to sources of destructive finality in his passionate crusade to save humanity. 

Trying to keep him out of my life, I gave him more reason to continue the attack. Under an assualt of sheer, manic, cheerful determination, I let down my defenses... but he continued, unforgiving in his reach. Never ceasing his severe demands, his efforts became overwhelming. It was an overload of so many foreign sensations that I could barely keep my head. Moving quickly, our relationship--if one could dignify with such an affectionate term the constant struggle of wills we experienced--it burned hotly to consume what little capacity for emotional expression I then possessed. 

Finally, one day he delivered the crushing blow. Accusing that I didn't understand the nature of love, this two-way exchange we both so deperately craved, he confirmed a nagging suspicion. "You're so empty inside, Heero. Always begging to be filled up--always needing everything I can give. Well, here's a surprise, kiddo--I need more than this, more than what you're ever going to be capable of giving." 

To say this to me, he revealed how little he understood me. 

I, who am giving all in return for nothing of substance. 

I, worth nothing as an individual; failed as a person. 

I, programmed to take any measure necessary to achieve even the most insignificant goal. 

I am someone who must be loved and respected, not just an object of lust or fantasies. 

These obvious deficiencies of both Relena and Duo do not diminish them when they are called to their respective roles. Instead, they excel at their tasks because of these qualities. What the world needs in this time of crisis and what I desire in a lover are a list of attributes neither fully possess. The closest match I have found lies before me now, unaware of the attention I lavish upon him. 

His appearance deceptively frail, he has demonstrated the strength of character to defend his ideals. He is afraid of his mortality, but is willing to risk everything to end the suffering and sorrow of those he cares for. 

I stand in the shadows each night. From a distance, I watch over him and wonder... does he care enough to stop my sorrow? Does he care enough to let me love him?   
  
  



	2. Segment Two

Gundam Wing Fic--Ghost of the Heart

**GHOST OF THE HEART**   
  


**Part 2**   
  
****

He is standing on the veranda in front of the Institute, trying to let the sunlight warm his small frame. Eyes closed and face toward the sky, he seeks in futility to banish a chill that seems to radiate from his very soul. With a sigh, he leans back against the stone railing and bends his thoughts inward. For weeks now there has been a ghostly emptiness, the faintest traces of an ache chasing starlight. 

When he must, a brave mask is summoned with the last vestiges of his strength--all to maintain a public charade of concern and surety. However, it is in the rare moment alone like this where he can let his despair overtake him, let the nameless pain surface. Guilt, longing, dissapointment and anger all ride the grey wave that engulfs his ego. For a space, there is no war, no jaded soldier, only the scouring flames and a broken, frightened child. 

"Excuse the interruption, Master." The unexpected voice jolts him from his thoughts. Turning, he acknowledges the servant with a weary smile. "You are wanted in the Director's office, sir. If you would care to follow me?" 

Waving off the assistance, he replies, "Thank you, but I remember the way there." He strides off, hoping the meeting is due to the arrival of new information on the promised search. A secretary wordlessly shows him into the main room, closing the doors as she retreats. 

A minute passes in the gloom-filled office before he nervously calls out. "Miss Relena? I was told you wished to see me..." He approaches a large desk, his tone becoming more uncertain as the chair does not swivel about to reveal its occupant. "If you will permit me to ask, I was wondering how far your inqueries have gone--the search for pilot Trowa Bar--" 

"That is no longer necessary," interjects the unseen figure. Not in view, but always foremost in thought--he recognizes the flat, even tones immediately. 

"It can't be," he stammers incredulously. 

"Believe, my little one." The speaker rises and turns to face the youth. 

"Trowa!" the blonde exclaims. In his joy, he vaults over the desk and wraps the other in a fierce hug. After the inital impact and under a combined attack of smothering kisses and a rib-cracking embrace, the lanky young man barely manages to remain on his feet. 

"How did you...? When did you...? Where have you been?" 

The first blazing passions subsiding to a steady, controlled flame, the shorter pilot gently snuggles his partner. "I'm not going to let you out of my sight now you've come back." 

Tensing, the brunette holds him at arm's length. "I've got to tell you something before we let this go too far. Ever since..." He makes a vague gesture with one hand, trying to collect his thoughts. 

"What is it?" 

"I don't know if I can trust you anymore. I put my life in your hands and you betrayed me. Expecting the most of you, I was given the least." 

Quatre clutches desperately at the forlorn figure. "But it was all I had in me... I'm so sorry." 

"That's not good enough. I trusted you--" The voice begins to change, becomes more modulated and older, filled with an infinite sadness. "And you failed me. You killed me, son." 

In the dim light, he looks up into his friend's face only to see another's visage. "Father?" he gasps. 

"You failed us all." 

Pulling away, he notices a darkness cascading over the body. He stares at his own hands in horror--a sticky red-black liquid covers them. Sinking onto the carpet, he screams out trying to keep the spreading terror at bay. "I never meant to do it! I'm sorry... I really am sorry." 

A grotesque mockery collapses beside him. "It's not enough. It will never be enough." 

"No!"   
  
  
  
  
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"No!" I wake up with my heart pounding in my ears. Breath coming in ragged, spastic pants, I frantically scan the room. Just a dream, nothing to get upset over. My skin feels clammy and my pyjamas are soaked in sweat. They cling nastily as I trudge to the bathroom. 

I don't bother to switch on the light. Instead, I strip in the dark and step into the shower. Dialing the water as hot as I can tolerate, I stand under the spray for an eternity. The heat is soothing and I start to feel sleepy. Praying there won't be time for me to dream again tonight, I dry off and wrap a clean towel around myself. 

Lying on top of the hastily smoothed bedsheets, I watch a shuffling pattern of light dance across the walls and ceiling. Somehow it's very relaxing although I know it's caused by chance movements of tree branches outside my bedroom windows blocking or letting through reflected beams. In the quiet of the night, my nightmare begins to fade. 

Tonight makes at least the seventh time I can remember dreaming since returning to Earth. Each time was the same: I would find Trowa and he would die, cursing and blaming me with his last tortured breath. Father's appearance was new, but not totally unexpected. It doesn't take a degree in psychology to deduce these visions are the product of a guilty mind. Try as I might, there's no way I can convince myself that these fears are truly groundless--I made my choices and people died for them. Directly because of my actions, a very dear friend was hurt or possibly killed. Stubborn to the end, it is my fault I could not save my father. 

I grope behind my head and wrench a pillow free. Clasping it to my bare chest, I hug the soft warmth. It's only my own body heat being absorbed and dispersed, but I close my eyes and try to imagine it's someone else. I don't want to be alone anymore. 

Rolling to my side, I grasp the pillow and pull it snug against the length of my body. I can't smell anything in the linen other than a sharp undercurrent of my sweat and the fading odor of fear. Wanting to bury myself in the sweetly acrid combination of scents that is Trowa, I search in vain. You kept doing this to me--appearing out of nowhere and sending my senses reeling before vanishing again into the mists of war, leaving barely a trace of your visit, just memories. Always before was the unspoken promise that we'd meet again. 

Now I don't have even that. 

Hearing the door open, I start. Heero stands beneath the lintel, barely distinguishable from obscured shapes in the common room beyond. I sit up and realize the towel has come undone by my movements. Blushing fiercely and uncomfortable at the thought of being practically naked in front of someone, I cover my embarrassment with a display of irritability. "Don't you know how to knock?" 

"I did," he responds. Tilting his head, he silently takes in my prudish actions as I attempt to arrange the bedclothes around me. "Are you alright?" 

"Of course I am," I snap, wishing he would just go away and leave me with the tiny shred of dignity I have left. 

"I heard you cry out." 

"A nightmare. Everyone has them, but Gundam pilots are allowed more than the usual allotment. It comes with the lightning fast reflexes and a desire to blow things up." My tone is far more bitter than I meant it to be, but I truly am disturbed and ashamed. 

The ticking of a small clock behind Heero becomes loud in the following silence. It chimes the quarter hour, but he still refuses to go. Slowly, deliberately, he speaks again. 

"When Duo had nightmares, he always said sleeping near someone else was reassuring. No matter how frightening the dream, it didn't seem so bad if he knew somebody close by cared." 

There is a timidity in his voice. Suddenly, he doesn't seem the machine of destruction and chill retribution I had assumed. No, he's as vulnerable and human as any of us. Perhaps more so, with this need to become an agent of death to preserve a fragile peace. He's just as alone as I am. 

"I'm not Duo." Slightly softer this time. I can feel the pain when he thinks about the boisterous American. 

"No, you're not. You're Quatre." I laugh at his simple statement, but there is an unspoken further part: 'But maybe the two of you aren't that different at all. "Quatre-ness" is not completely removed from "Duo-ness." Let me show you.' 

Perhaps I'm reading more into his words than is prudent. 

Perhaps I'm not seeing enough... 

With some trepidation, I indicate he is welcome to sleep here. Instead, he goes back to his room. I am dissappointed he has not accepted my offer. Before I can rise to shut the door, he is back, carrying a soft bundle which he tosses on the bed. "You need this more than I. They might be a little big." He turns away from me as I pick up the garments he brought. They are one of the sets of nightclothes I had persuaded him to buy a few weeks ago when we decided to stay in the Sanc kingdom. Slipping into them, I notice he's still wearing the Institute's uniform. 

I drape the towel on a convenient chair and climb under the sheets. Heero comes over and pulls aside the top blanket enough to slide in. He lies there on his back, stiff and unyielding as an iron bar. Certainly no substitute for Trowa, but... 

Somehow I don't think I'll find dreams a problem anymore.   
  
  



	3. Segment Three

Gundam Wing Fic--Ghost of the Heart

**GHOST OF THE HEART**   
  


**Part 3**   
  
****

In your sleep, you move closer to me. Something is bothering you, causing your seraphlike face to momentarily reflect an inner turmoil. Cautiously, I gather you in my arms as best I can. 

You relax and allow me to tighten the embrace. The warmth of your breath against my naked flesh causes my heart to race as you snuggle into me. For several days now, we've found a way to hold back the misery and lonleiness. Each morning we go back to pretending everything is fine, but here in the void we cling to each other. For mutual comfort... or out of a growing love? 

I still don't know what you want--who will make you happy. 

That first night, I stayed awake and watched you. Drinking in the sight of you by moonlight, so near to me physically, I waited and hoped for some sort of unconscious response to my presence. You remained curled up on your half of the bed, back to me. Ordinarily, you turn at least twice an hour but it was nearly dawn before you moved. 

I got up to collect some fresh clothes from my room and take a shower. My hand on the bedroom doorknob, I heard a gentle rustling. Looking back, I saw something extraordinary. 

You now lay nestled in the slight depression my body had made. Questing fingers clutching a pillow, you mumbled--then smiled. Not the customary grin that is present on your fair features throughout the day (and causes me to melt inside every time it's directed my way). No, this was the one I had longed to see since first glimpsing it in a photo. 

This time, it was for me. 

The next evening, you were awkward and uneasy. Your eyes begged me the question you didn't feel it proper to ask. After all, a moment of weakness is allowed even the most battle-hardened soldier, but to repeat it supposedly lessens the warrior. Finally, I settled the situation by changing into my loose sleeping outfit and slipping under the sheets. Hair still damp and the scent of your soap hanging in the air, you slid in next to me. 

You leaned over and gave me a quick hug. It startled me as much as the whispered "Thank you." 

Gradually, I've become more comfortable with expressing my thoughts, my feelings. Perhaps soon I will have the courage to demonstrate the depth of my affection for you. 

Hands lightly roaming over your contours, I imagine what it would be like to touch your skin without the barriers of silk and cotton between us. Not in a brutal show of force and possession, but as the natural extension of two souls moving to the same gorgeous goal. Will we one day explore those levels of intimacy? For now, it is enough to hold you and protect you from your fears. 

Resting your head on my chest, you seem at peace. So much of me wants to keep you like this forever--safe from a cruel, callous world. 

Yawning, I sink back onto my pillow and tug the blankets up so that we're both covered. Just before I fall asleep, I stroke your hair and press a kiss to the flaxen strands. 

Stirring, you murmur a name. 

"Trowa." 

In a moment, my heart is utterly destroyed. It is as if a spectre had risen from its grave to stab at me. 

Gingerly, I push out from beneath your arm and leave your side. I do not stop this time when I hear you shift, but continue woodenly to my own room. Under cold sheets in my lonely bed, I come to realize my mistake. How could I have ever won you over when another still claims you from the frozen reaches of space? He gave his life for yours--the precious life I tried to take. I am not worthy of your devotion and could not make you care for me. I will cherish this brief time togther knowing it has come to an end tonight. The emptiness I feel will one day vanish, I am sure... although this is little solace in the silent world of dreamless night.   
  
  
Farewell, thou are too dear for my possessing,   
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate.   
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;   
My bonds in thee are all determinate.   
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting,   
And for that riches where is my deserving?   
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,   
And so my patent back again is swerving.   
Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing,   
Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking;   
So thy great gift, upon misprison growing,   
Comes home again, on better judgement making.   
Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter,   
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter. (*)   
  
  
  
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Owari  
  
  
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(*)--Sonnet 87 by W. Shakespeare   
  
  
  
  


HTML created on Feb. 21, 2001 by Mel of M&Em-chan. 


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